


Love, Lies, and Locks

by overall_sin_and_trash



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, BIG OOF, Dom!Michael, Implied Sub!Lucifer, M/M, Secrets, im sad so this story is sad too, trying to get outta writers block
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-10-11 15:00:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17449244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/overall_sin_and_trash/pseuds/overall_sin_and_trash
Summary: Michael loves his younger brother dearly, even after all the fighting, sorrow, and horror, he loves him. He just can’t understand why it seems so fake.Lucifer loves his older brother completely, even though they had their disagreements in the past, he loves him. He just can’t understand why it hurts so much.





	Love, Lies, and Locks

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo I’ve been in outpatient at the mental health clinic; and writing has not been the easiest. But I’m making a come back, I just might need to get some oneshots up to get me in the rhythm again. Enjoy!

   Heaven was a quiet place. Of course, it had always been that way, but it only became apparent after Lucifer fell. Before the fall, Heaven was not unlike a library: it was quiet, and it was supposed to be, it felt like it had to be. But after, it seemed like a house broken by a death, although, in some ways it was. The pristine halls that had once been so pearly white became almost insulting to look at. Heaven was perfect, it was immaculate, and it was pure. It had become sickeningly clean to the angels. Heaven was not supposed to be a mask, and yet, it felt like living a lie. The warmth they had all taken for granted had been taken in a heartbeat-- it was nearly ironic, how the lightbringer had been bringing some sense of spiritual light with him. Without him everything was as it had always been, but it felt like they were all meandering through a vivid dream.They didn't know why they felt empty, they had no idea what they were missing. Many angels looked for answers that yielded only more questions. "Where is Lucifer?" They might ask, then pause. " _ Who _ is Lucifer?"

 

   Of course, the archangels remember, but they all handled it in vastly different ways. Gabriel had ran away long before the shift, Raphael acted as though he had never known Lucifer, and Michael shut everyone out. No one knew what Michael was doing, but they understood that it was not their place to be asking. They had no God, no general, no purpose. Most people didn't even miss Michael-- no one liked what he had become.

 

     If anyone had cared to wonder, they would never have even come close to the reality of Michael's new obsession. No one would ever consider that the prince was not, in fact, by himself. He was with Lucifer, like he always had been, but now, no one could know. No one could ever see Lucifer outside of Hell, but more importantly, no one could ever see Lucifer splayed out nude on Michael's bed. Before the fall their relationship had been a secret kept for lack of the words to explain what exactly the had. In the blink of an eye it became clear that no one could know-- not after the fall-- no one could ever know just how much Michael had cared for his little baby brother. But it had been pure, a strictly affectionate relationship because neither knew how to make the first move.

 

    Everything had changed. Michael became enveloped in some sort of guilt-driven state of manic lust-- guilt for what he did to Lucifer, and lust for all the things he didn't. In the end, that is what lead to his new reality: a secret life revolving entirely around an action of intimacy he didn't understand.

 

    Lucifer was on all fours on the bed, his face hidden in the pillows as Michael had his way with him. If he ever spoke, or even thought, it meant nothing. There was an ache in the way he begged for the older, perhaps it was simply arousal, perhaps it was a newfound fear. Nothing mattered to him anymore, Michael was his sole purpose. Sentience was for individuals, and so Lucifer had no means to be speaking of anything other than sex-- or maybe he was too afraid of what answers might come of his many questions. It felt like he knew something he shouldn't, but he couldn't remember. It was hard to keep any kind of coherency among the constant pain and pleasure of whatever sinful activity Michael dreamed up for that round.

 

    "I love you." Michael groaned, speeding up the pace of his frantic thrusts. "You know that, right?"

 

    Lucifer nodded violently, unable to form his words of assent.

 

    He leaned over Lucifer's arched back to bite at his neck. "And they can't take you away from me, not again." He growled, drawing blood and lapping it up. "If I can't have you, darling, _no_ _one_ _can_."

 

    Lucifer gasped as the older forced him to look up by grabbing his throat and choking him with a forearm. Of course, he didn't need to breathe, really, but it felt no different than what a human might feel in the same scenario. "Michael!" He cried, his voice strained and sore. " _ Please _ !"

 

    Michael laughed a bit and whispered low in Lucifer's ear. "Please  _ what _ , baby?"

 

    "I'm gonna, I'm gonna---!" He seized up, keening something wordless as he came hard, not for the first time that day.

 

    Michael praised him heavily, though he had slumped against the bed in exhaustion. When the older found his own release, Lucifer had already passed out.

 

    When he woke, the room was dark, a table-side lamp illuminating not much more than a note Michael had left, the cursive reading " _ Lucifer, I'm out tending to some important matters, make sure to stay hidden, and remember that I love you _ ." He stared at the note for what seemed like an eternity, before standing up to stretch. What he needed was a shower. Michael had cleaned him up quite a bit, but not enough to make the lingering feeling of sin go away. He scanned the room for a bit until he figured out where the bathroom was. His head was foggy, like he was still dreaming. Perhaps he wasn't fully awake, and the shower might help with that. Already nude, he started the water as soon as he got in the room. The shower was yet to heat up, so he went to splash some cold water on his face. But he froze in front of the sink. His reflection looked so tired, so  _ sad-- _ it didn't seem right. There was no reason to be sad, he had  _ everything _ . In spite, he laughed at the glass, the sound hollow and off key. Startled, he spoke. "I love you, Michael." His voice was certainly his voice, but sounded like it came from a speaker, not his throat. "Please." He tried. "Love. Michael. More. Faster. Harder. Yes!" He grew frantic. "Michael!  _ Michael _ ! Please, please,  _ please _ !" He didn't understand. His heart pounded against his chest-- why, just why couldn't he figure out what was wrong?

 

    He looked over his entire body, feeling the same haze of imperfection that had panicked him so much before. There were deep gashes on his back, flowering down from his shoulder blades like wings. He spun to face himself again.  _ Wings _ ? Yes, wings! But,  _ why _ ? His arm began to tremble, and without even thinking he began to tear flesh from his palm with blunt nails. There was no pain, only panic. When he pulled himself away he had a symbol engraved, a symbol he remembered and felt like belonged. " _ Cain _ ." He croaked, his voice oddly distorted. The word meant nothing to him, and in a way that was everything. After a while, he left the bathroom with the water still running. He had to find something, he just wasn't sure what it was. The room was bland, with little furniture and no decorations-- something he hadn't noticed before. Under the bed was a heavy metal key. It was dark, and looked old. The only place it could possibly go with was the door tucked away in the corner-- another thing he failed to see in any of the many times he had walked the room. The key fit the lock perfectly, but the handle wouldn't budge. He pulled and pushed until his arms ached, pounded against the wood until his knuckles split.

 

      The door opposite to him opened and Michael sprinted inside, looking horrified. "Baby, baby what are you doing?!" He dropped to his knees to hold the now sobbing Lucifer.

 

    " _ Please _ !" He wailed. "Michael! It hurts!"

 

    Something shifted in his expression, the panic turning to sorrow. "It hurts?"

 

    Lucifer cried harder as he realized that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't manage to say what he was thinking. " _ Michael _ !"

 

    "Your eyes are beautiful." He murmured, seeming to be a little out of it. "Really."

 

     Lucifer began to shudder violently, but Michael held him down.

 

     "And I think that's why I can never do it." He continued, pulling Lucifer's eyelid up to peer at the bloodshot blue eyes. They were full of life and energy, but lacked a spark. He chuckled humorlessly. "Next time, next time it'll all work out."

 

    His heart sank. Michael wasn't making any sense!

 

    "Spread your legs."

 

    He didn't want to. He didn't want to!

 

    Michael nodded contently as the younger angel complied instantly. He stroked the boy's smooth side, adoring the whimpers he earned. "Lie on the bed, face up."

 

    Once again, Lucifer obeyed quickly and without any qualms. He was still crying. He watched as Michael opened the locked door easily. Without any way of moving, he was forced to stare into the tiny room he had tried so hard before to open. As the door creaked open, he could feel his stomach churn. In the darkness of the room behind that door, it almost looked like there were bodies leaned up against the wall. He wanted desperately to get up and run away, but he couldn't move an inch-- so he stared. After a moment he could see clearer-- those weren't bodies, but they were body  _ parts _ , dozens of them, scattered around the dark like they had just been thrown inside. They were different shapes and sizes, some with chunks of flesh missing, some bent at impossible angles. It looked like part of a mannequin factory, in a way, like perhaps you could assemble a whole person in there.

 

     "You'd never be this submissive, would you?" Michael asked, it was rhetorical. "You're always so stubborn. So eager to rebel. That's how we got here, right?" He came out with bloodied hands and a tired gaze. "Remember how we got here, why you can't leave the room or see anyone?" Lucifer's horror and shock must have been visible, as Michael began to laugh faintly. "Sounds about right." He crawled up onto the bed and straddled Lucifer's trembling body, tracing a finger around where the heart should be. He didn't look up. "This time, you'll be perfect. Just as you were before, you'll be  _ perfect _ ," a curved dagger found itself in his hand, and he met his brother's gaze with wild eyes just as he pierced through skin. " _ And you'll be mine _ ."

**Author's Note:**

> Was that any good? I just really liked the idea of Michael holding onto his love for Lucifer after the fall— except literally. Dollucifer? Ha! I’d have tagged it like that but... spoilers I guess.


End file.
